


Disarmed

by DayOfTheBethan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Minor Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Past Torture, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Torture, im sorry shiro, keith/shiro if you squint at the end, only mentions of lance pidge hunk and coran
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 12:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15219464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayOfTheBethan/pseuds/DayOfTheBethan
Summary: Shiro doesn't remember how he lost his arm. He assumes it was during an arena fight, or maybe Haggar just got bored one day, but he isn't particularly keen on finding out. His time with the Galra has given him more than enough trauma to deal with as it is.





	Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I write best after midnight? I wrote this in one day. If only I could write my dissertation this quickly...  
> I'm sorry, Shiro, you're just an easy target...  
> Also I apologise for the punny title.  
> As ever, I don't own anything and any mistakes are my own.  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!

The team find themselves making the trek down a mountain after a long day of political talks and alliance making and words wrapped in about five different meanings, none of which were strictly accurate. They were all tired and hungry, trying to pay attention to a narrow part of the path whilst Hunk was telling them about his latest culinary triumph waiting for them back at the castle when Shiro misses a step, stumbles, puts an arm out to catch himself, mises the ground entirely, and goes tumbling down a small cliff. He falls for maybe two or three seconds, not long at all, but not one of them misses the sharp crack of his left arm as he comes to a halt, least of all Shiro.  
  
He barely knows what happened, one moment he was debating how to tell Hunk he was just going to sleep instead of joining them for dinner, the next he's at the bottom of a cliff, a familiar pain in his arm. Wait. He's never broken an arm before, how can it be familiar? His mind lurches, the landscape turns purple, and suddenly he realises.  
  
\---  
  
"Champion! Champion! Champion!" The crowd roars in Shiro's ears as he clutches a sword and spins on his heel, wary about where his next opponent will come from. His last is still in a pile by the side, a second sword through its eye. Shiro's side aches where it had got a lucky hit in, but he's relatively unscathed so far.  The door lifts up and his new challenger is revealed. 'Dinosaur' is the first word that springs to mind, a giant reptilian creature with a tail twice the length of its body. The tip of the tail whips around, catching one of the pillars and nearly felling it. Right. Stay away from the tail. Shiro grips his sword tighter and prepares to fight for the second time that day. The tail of the beast is fast however, and Shiro can't get out of the way quickly enough. The impact against the side of the arena is accompanied by the cracks of breaking bones. His ribs, already sore from his first fight, and his right arm. Shiro takes a second, all he can afford, before getting his feet under him and attempting to pick his sword up again. That’s when he notices the bone sticking out of his arm. Shiro gags on the sight and the pain, but takes a deep breath, shoves it down, picks up the sword with his left hand, and gets to work.  
  
It's not until he’s back in his cell later that he allows himself to really examine the damage done. Shiro can barely move his arm without whimpering and any attempt to set the bone back into its proper place is short and abortive. It’s hardly surprising when the infection sets in.  
  
It's five days after his last fight, and Shiro is nearly delirious. His food and water had been delivered as usual, but the last two days’ worth lay untouched as he shivers on the mat that serves for a bed, the flush of a fever high on his cheeks. The guard come to collect him for his next appearance in the arena takes in the pitiful sight in front of him and sighs deeply.  
  
"This one's for the witch."  
  
The Galran calls over his shoulder before stepping forward to assess the damage. He grasps Shiro's broken arm and pulls, and Shiro _keens_ , high and long at the back of his throat. The Galran keeps pulling until the arm is straight and the red lines of blood poisoning can be seen crawling their way up to Shiro's heart. He isn't gentle in pulling Shiro to his feet, deliberately putting more weight on his broken arm and the pain has Shiro passing out before they've even left the cell.  
  
Shiro comes to strapped to a table, his right arm stretched to the side like a butterfly pinned to a board. He struggles, briefly, but his fever is still high, and he quickly tires. At least, until he sees Haggar. Her hunched figure and elaborate robes have ingrained a fight or flight instinct in him already, and he fights against the restraints as hard as he can, only stilling when Haggar reaches out for his arm. She pulls it this way and that to examine it as Shiro curses at her in every language he knows, English and Japanese and Galran.

"What a filthy mouth you have, Champion." The witch observes. "I suppose it can't be helped, you do keep the worst kind of company in the arena. Muzzle him." She instructs a druid.

"No no no n-" Shiro struggles harder than ever but can't stop the hard muzzle from being forced into his mouth. It covers his nose, already cutting into the skin as it’s strapped to the table and cuts off his air and Shiro _panics_. Fingers scrabbling against the table, limbs pulling against the straps, eyes wide and wild and desperate, he fights with all he has left and then Haggar stops it all with a hand on his forehead. He stops, still trying to draw in a breath, chest heaving with each failed attempt, trying his best to keep an eye on the witches’ hand and face at the same time.

“You will be still. You will be silent.” She tells him. “And when I am done, you will be the greatest fighter the arena has ever seen. You are mine, Champion, to do with as I please.” The hand which isn’t on Shiro’s head toggles something on the muzzle and suddenly he can breathe as vents open on the front of it. “See? I can be kind.” Her hand moves from his head to his hair, stroking it almost lovingly for a moment before pulling it tight. “But if you fight me again, it will be the last sane thought in your head.” And suddenly Shiro is screaming again, body convulsing as a feeling almost like electric shocks runs through his body until it stops and he falls limp against the table.

He lasts until the witch has cut a line around his arm before passing out.

\----

“Shiro. Shiro!” The purple recedes and Shiro is back on the mountain, throbbing pain in his arm and the very worried faces of the other Paladins crouched in front of him.

He blinks once, twice, and swallows before speaking. “What happened?”

“We dunno, we were just walking and then you fell, and when you got down here you were just…” Lance tails off

“Staring. Did you hit your head?” That’s Keith, always worried about Shiro, always giving him a way out.

“No. No, I don’t think so. I think it was just the shock.” Shiro shakes away the remnants of the flashback and makes to push himself to his feet, ignoring Keith’s sceptical eyebrow. He, along with the rest of the team, know full well what it was, but they also know that Shiro won’t talk about it unless he’s ready, and that would be never if he had his way about it.

True to form, he brushes off any more questions the team pepper him with, instead delighting Pidge by stealing the sash she’d spent the whole day complaining with for a makeshift sling. Hunk sighs and radios ahead to the castle, asking Coran to get a pod ready, and that they wouldn’t be long.

\--

Less than three hours later, Shiro is out of the pod and his arm is fully healed. He’d promised to join the rest of the team in the dining room when he got out, but instead finds himself going to his room. His mind is still warring with itself in the aftermath of the flashback, and he needs some time to recalibrate. Going into his bathroom, he finds himself staring in the mirror, at the white in his hair and the scar across his nose and the join between flesh and metal of his prosthetic and tries to ignore the witch still whispering in his ear that she owns him. His chest tightens and before he knows it, the glass of the mirror is crashing to the floor in pieces and Shiro is on his knees, still gripping the side of the sink. He doesn’t know how long he stays there before he hears a knock on his door.

“Shiro?” It’s Keith, of course it’s Keith. Shiro takes a deep breath and drags himself up, wincing as he notices the broken mirror.

“Shiro? I’m coming in.” Keith warns, as always, and Shiro is always glad for it, but this time it’s not enough time for him to pull himself together, and so Keith is met by the sight of Shiro leaning on the doorframe leading to the bathroom, shaking slightly and with glass in his hair. Keith hides his dismay well, putting the tray down on Shiro’s bed and taking the other mans hand to lead him first back to the sink to shake the glass out of his hair – Keith makes a point of not mentioning the shattered mirror – and then to sit on the bed, both at opposite ends. Keith takes a bowl from the tray, curls his legs up and starts to eat, not demanding anything of Shiro. It takes a while but eventually Shiro mirrors Keith, legs tucked under him as he eats the bowl of space pho. Hunk had really outdone himself this time.

The quiet companionship helps more than anything, and after they’ve both finished eating, Shiro starts to talk.

“My arm was broken, in the arena. My right arm.” He tells Keith everything, from the alien dinosaur to the absolute terror he’d felt at not being able to breathe. Keith doesn’t interrupt once, but his face gets more and more tense the more Shiro talks. Keith only speaks when Shiro falls silent.

“I’m gonna kill her.”

“Get in line.” Shiro says wryly, and Keith snorts a little.

“Want me to stay here tonight?” There’s no inflection to Keith’s question, no ‘I know you’re going to wake up screaming’ hiding in his voice, and Shiro is immeasurably grateful for that.

“Please.”

Keith nods once, and it’s decided.

Unsurprisingly, Shiro’s nightmares are indeed brutal that night, but he wakes up from each one to Keith, sat at the other end of his bed with eyes glinting in the dark like a cat, and he knows he’s safe.


End file.
